


Like A Halfway House For The Mobster-To-Cop Transition

by mizface



Category: due South
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface/pseuds/mizface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the second time Ray can remember shocking Frank Zuko, in all the years they’ve known one another. It still doesn’t feel like a victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Halfway House For The Mobster-To-Cop Transition

**Author's Note:**

> written for the first ds_kinkmeme, for the prompt "RayV/Frank Zuko after he returns from Vegas"

All Ray wants is to have a drink someplace quiet. The house is too much, too soon – too much noise, too much attention, too much family. He isn’t ready for it. How much he’s wished for just this thing – to be home, to be _him_ – makes that fact more than a little unsettling. So he edges out, leaving to make his way to the neighborhood bar. Out of habit he picks a seat at the bar far from the entrance, facing the door. Its location means that he knows the moment Frank Zuko comes in.

Before Vegas, he’d have done one of two things at this point – either quietly made his way out or (and this was more likely) gone over and made some sort of scene. Smarted off, pushed, anything to prove that while Zuko may own parts of the neighborhood, he didn’t own Ray Vecchio. Now, Ray just sits there, finishes his drink and waves the bartender over for a refill. He can feel the inevitability of the moment settle into his bones, weighing him down, as he waits for Zuko to come to him.

The bar’s pretty empty this late, so it doesn’t take long for him to be noticed. Zuko motions his goons to stay at the table as he walks over, all confidence and swagger. Ray just watches his approach. He doesn’t try to put on a Bookman glare, but he’s not sure he remembers how to be Ray. Ray’s changed, undercover has changed him, and he can see the second Zuko senses it, see how his step falters ever so briefly, how the contemptuous look is now laced with uncertainty. This is the second time Ray can remember shocking Frank Zuko, in all the years they’ve known one another. It still doesn’t feel like a victory.

Zuko takes the seat next to Ray, orders himself a drink, something old and expensive, and doesn’t acknowledge Ray’s presence. As far as opening moves go it’s pretty standard, but to Ray it’s a tell, a sign that Zuko knows Ray’s different, but not how or why. Combine that with Zuko coming to _him_ , and Ray knows he has the upper hand in this, if he wants it.

Ray waits, patience personified. He has no stake in the conversation, after all. He honestly doesn’t care if Zuko drinks and leaves without a word – might even be easier. But because it’s them, it can’t be easy.

“Haven’t seen you around.”

Ray nods. “Been awhile.”

“Any special reason you’re here?” Zuko says it in almost a throwaway tone, but Ray can feel the tension underneath.

Ray tilts his glass, takes a sip. “Quiet drink.” Ray can tell his answers bother Zuko, but he really doesn’t care. He isn’t being anything but honest, and after all he’s seen, he has no fear of Zuko, not anymore. It was burned away in the Vegas heat, ashes mixed into the sand. He’s seen worse, _been worse_. He can’t help but wonder if Zuko’s picked up on that.

“There’ve been rumors floating around,” Zuko says after a minute. “About you, about how you’ve changed. That you aren’t the man you used to be.”

So he knew about the switch, maybe not all of it, but enough. Ray isn’t surprised, but confirmation is good. Knowledge is power, and he find it interesting that Zuko gave that away so easily to him.

“Everything changes, Frankie,” he replies with a shrug. It isn’t what he wants to hear, Ray can tell, but he isn’t here to answer to Zuko. Ray feels Zuko’s gaze assessing him, trying to figure him out. Ray just sits there and lets Zuko look, then gives him a once-over of his own. When he meets Zuko’s eyes, they’re dark with something Ray isn’t expecting. It’s a look he saw a lot in Vegas, an attraction to the power and influence he held, what he represented. To see it on Frank Zuko’s face is startling, and Ray can feel himself react. Ray lets some of that heat show, then tilts an eyebrow, at once acknowledging and questioning.

It’s a dangerous thing, he knows it, and Zuko sure as hell does too. But they lock eyes, and it’s a done deal. Ray stands first, leaving a generous tip for the bartender with a nod of thanks for the drinks. He nods at Zuko too, then walks toward the door. He doesn’t need to look to know he’ll be followed.

The path between the bar and his house takes him near a few alleys, and Ray slows as he approaches one a few blocks down. He hears footsteps, measured and even, and allows a small smile as he slows further. He can give this much.

He turns at the alley, stopping once he’s in just far enough to be out of easy view. Zuko appears a few moments later, stopping in front of him, trying for confident but looking more to Ray like he’s out of his league and knows it.

Ray waits, and before long Zuko speaks. “What are you doing here, Vecchio?” It full of bravado, but the uncertainty is there too, plain as day. Ray moves forward a step, right into Zuko’s space, leaning in close enough to feel Zuko’s breath on his lips. Just as Zuko moves to close the distance, he shifts so his mouth is next to Zuko’s ear. “I’m waiting for you to blow me,” Ray says, voice low, and he can feel Zuko’s shudder, whether at the words themselves or the tickle of his breath Ray doesn’t know.

Ray waits a few more breaths, then moves back to look Zuko in the eye. Lust is there, and defiance, along with confusion and something else Ray is hesitant to name. He reaches out, putting his hands on Zuko’s shoulders and presses down lightly but firmly; this is not a request. Zuko drops to his knees, eyes still locked on Ray’s, and Ray moves one hand into Zuko’s hair as Zuko lowers the zipper on Ray’s pants.

Ray’s already hard, and as Zuko takes him out, Ray cards a hand through his hair, then tugs at it just a little. Zuko takes the hint and leans forward, mouth open to take Ray in.

Ray watches, giving Zuko time to adjust to having Ray’s cock in his mouth before thrusting, slow and shallow. It’s good, warm and wet, the slide of Zuko’s lips over the length of him nice. Ray doesn’t want nice. He tightens his grip a little more and Zuko inhales sharply. The suction brings an involuntary thrust from Ray that Zuko picks up on immediately, and it goes from good to great. Ray looks down, watching himself fuck Zuko’s mouth, his cock sliding in and out. Zuko looks up to meet his gaze, and the mix of lust and fear in his eyes is one Ray knows all too well. Only this isn’t Vegas, it’s Chicago. And he isn’t Armando Langoustini, but he isn’t Ray Vecchio anymore either. He should stop, should pull Zuko off of him, but instead he fists Zuko’s hair and thrusts twice more, coming down Zuko’s throat.

Zuko takes it all, swallowing him down until Ray lets him go, lets him sit back on his heels, wiping the back of his hand across his swollen lips. He stays there, looking at Ray, and it’s recognition, it’s knowing what Ray is, what he’s capable of, that’s the look Ray didn’t want to name. The Bookman may have had the power, but Ray had been able to keep hold of it, to use it. And Zuko reacted to it without the name to back it up.

Ray looks down at him for a long minute, then tucks himself in, zips up and leaves the alley.

He doesn’t look back.


End file.
